


Different Accounts

by citynoise



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Suicide Attempt, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citynoise/pseuds/citynoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly insists that their first encounter occurred in the lab. Sherlock suggests otherwise and informs Molly that her assistance during the Fall was not the first time she’d saved his life. (overall fluff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Toby

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for sherlolly, Sherlock as a series, and fanfiction in general. Hurrah! I’m happy I’ve finally climbed aboard after being such an avid reader (at four in the morning, weeping, not so gracefully) So anyway, I don’t own these characters at all -frowns loudly- But at least I can hold on to these fictional literary beacons of hope.

"Do you remember when we first met, Molly?" Sherlocks affirming baritone snapped Molly out of her reverie, in which she happily sipped tea in a cat cafe instead of being elbow deep within a Mr Robert Stanson. Suffice to say she didn’t find anything interesting, ah the downfalls of pathology.

She blinked a few times and slowly removed her arms from within Stanson's chest.  
"I'm sorry, what?" she wasn't used to questions like this. Common place. She was used to questions of permission or rhetorical questions in spite. 

Sherlock sighed, "Our first encounter, do you remember it?"

"Do you?" she answered dumbly, she grimaced just after she’d said it, wishing for once her words came out with at least a fraction of thought behind them. She began sliding off her gloves and discarding them in the sink as Sherlock edged closer towards her.

“Yes,” he said, “I was hoping you’d be able to recount that day. Please.” he ended with a quickly whipped smile. Forced. Her least favourite.

Her eyes, extremely deadpanned and unaffected, both amused and fascinated the consulting detective. It seemed Molly Hooper was not in the mood for any games today.

“Right, well. It has come to my attention that we may have different accounts of how exactly, and when exactly,” he mumbled that part under his breath, Molly noticed, “It is we first met each other and I thought it was time we sorted the matter out.”

Molly tilted her head to the right, and watched as Sherlocks eyes immediately registered the movement, interpreted it. There was something curiously odd about his behaviour, almost like he was confessing some kind of secret. 

“It began pretty much like this.” Molly began, sitting herself on a stool just arms length away from where he perched himself on the stool across from her. “I was working and you asked for something. Although it wasn’t a memory you wanted from me. No. You wanted me to give you a hand - literally.” she smiled at her own joke and at the memory itself, they were so young and so different then. 

 

Sherlock found solace in Molly’s warm and multi-coloured apartment for two weeks before his arrangements to eradicate all traces of Moriarty’s network began. After the Fall, those moments within Sherlock’s company (both pleasant and unpleasant) removed Molly’s nerves that had dug themselves deeply into her bones. It was a nice shift from violent longing to a constant simmer. She was always going to adore Sherlock, body and mind, but at least now they had a certain mutual respect, a respect he fully appreciated the day Molly both killed him and saved his life.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking the remnants of the past from her thoughts, “I eventually said yes and then that was that. Do you remember?” 

Sherlock nodded, although his eyes suggested he was thinking otherwise.   
“Yes, yes I remember. Although I don’t believe that is the first time we… we met.” 

“Okay…” Molly raised an eyebrow. “So when was it then?” 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Why exactly is it that you named your beloved comrade, Toby?” He asked. Molly’s eyes widened in shock, “How did you know about that?” She could slowly hear her heart in her ears, there was no possible way he knew about it. No way. It was years ago, before they met, before she even considered pathology as an occupation. It was amazing, brilliant and terrifying how deep Sherlock’s deductions could go, that it could trace back to a detail so faint and personal. “Is he dead?” Molly was breathing fast, she didn’t know why.

“Molly.”

“He’s dead isn’t he? Oh god, I knew I should’ve walked him home, if only I hadn’t stepped on my goddam-.”

“Molly.” his voice was firm enough to get her attention but not enough to shake her. She took a few breaths out before calming down. 

“Why did you name your cat Toby?” he says this slowly, as if to suggest she has all the time in the world to gather her thoughts (they both knew he’d prefer if she got to the point). She thought she might as well use a term he’d so loosely thrown around instead of going into tedious detail.

“Sentiment.” she answered. 

His eyes softened and he nodded, encouraging her to go on. 

“A boy.” Molly began, “There was a boy I knew- well, met. He was…” she knotted her fingers in her lap. “Upset, when I first saw him. But I was young and I was so caught up in heroes. In princes and warriors and angels and doing the right thing in the face of fear. I wanted to save him. And so I did. He was the first person I ever saved.” Her eyes wandered towards Mr Stanson, just another person she felt she could bring justice to before his final judgement.   
“And his name was Toby, we were both the same age kinda, I don’t know he was a bit older than me. But I couldn’t really see, anyway, I named Toby after him because he’s the reason I wanted to save people. He’s the reason I try to bring justice to those who hurt the innocent.”

Sherlock removed his hands from beneath his mouth and out of his signature thought position, “Yes, that does seem about correct.” he muttered, “Give or take a few major details.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed, “Yes. So… How is it you know all of this? It was a very long time ago. How do you know about Toby?” Sherlock looked Molly squarely in the eyes, gouging her current mood to check he wasn’t in danger of her hand, which he’d grown accustomed to getting slapped by ever since his little drug tirade for a case.

“I know about it because that boy you saved wasn’t Toby. Toby was just a fake, first name to come to mind, alias. That boy you saved was me.”


	2. Train Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fright of being late for school is the least of her worries as Molly stumbles upon a rare sight along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mols has basically no sight this whole time, but it's kinda cute in a weird way. I dunno. Well, you know the deal, I don't own these cuties -frowns loudly- Who doesn't love a good ol' fashioned flashback anyway?

Molly Hooper was never late. It wasn’t principle for punctuality or the fear of the principal that encouraged her to make sure she was at the school gates by no later than 8:00. No, it was the embarrassment that would ensue if she pushed through the classroom door when everyone was settled. The sting of a dozen eyes all on you, the sniggering, the absolute eternity of having to find an available seat - it was all quite worthless if you compared it to the other problems of the world, but it was still a marginal fear nonetheless. The looming possibility of that fear coming to life, reared it’s head one late Monday morning. 

“Oh, God.” Molly stared at the blurry numbers blinking and had to lift it close to her eyes so she could see 7:45 on her digital alarm clock in absolute horror. She practically jumped out of her skin as she ripped the sheets off her and grabbed at pieces of uniform around her bedroom. Shoes. Shirt. Skirt. Her eyes frantically scanned her room for her tie and she distantly scorned herself for not having her things ready for school a night before. With one arm loosely doing her tie the other worked to brush a few strands on the left side of her head. Raising the alarm clock she just made out the numbers-

7:52 

With no time to brush the right side, Molly sprinted out the front door with nothing in her bag but two pieces of A4 paper, a mechanical pencil with no led and a banana that would undoubtedly be bruised by the time she got to class. She was two strides away from her letterbox when she almost collapsed. 

Her glasses.

She blamed it entirely on human error that an individual couldn’t leave the house without leaving at least one vital thing at home. She whipped them from her side table draw and shoved them onto her face carelessly upside down, only taking a moment to glance over her shoulder and see the numbers 7:56 shine mockingly as she made her way out once more. 

It usually took her approximately 10 minutes to get to school walking, she assumed that sprinting halfway (the thought of running the full distance was hilarious to Molly if not impossible) would narrow the time by at least two minutes. With the bell ringing at 8:00 and the trend of arriving ‘fashionably late’ being a thing, Molly was sure that she’d be safe so long as she was there before 8:05. If all went to planned and no cracks in the pavement made her trip, she predicted she’d have a minute to spare to catch her breath before anyone even had the time to realise she was late. The wind of the morning whipped at her knees and she tugged her skirt down in an effort to gather warmth, she’d have to take the shortcut near the train tracks if she was going to avoid all the roads she’d have to cross. 

Upon turning the corner Molly had to blink once or twice to confirm what she saw, and even then she denied it. She stopped dead in her tracks, the thought of adolescent unease flying away in an instant. There, just a couple hundred paces from her lay the train tracks ensuring transport from one town to the other, and there, in the center stood a figure standing idly; swaying almost… peaceful even. Molly was frozen. She looked around to see if there was anyone around, but there wasn’t. Her legs began to move.  
“H-Hey!” she shouted, making her way to the tracks, her eyes glancing left and right with no sign of a train as of yet. No response. Suddenly, she heard the ringing of the gate as the blockades fell down in one swoop, ensuring the path of the train was ready and only moments away. It was instinctive and rapid, Molly knew something awful was about to happen and there was only one way to stop it. Like the croak in someones voice just before they’re about to cry or the finality of a coffin lid closing, the sound of those bells ringing snapped Molly out of her own thoughts and she dropped her bag as she broke for a sprint. 

From a far distance away, in the corner of her eye she could see the train, in all it’s mechanic glory, but she focused and aimed straight for him, the - the - as she got nearer she noted it was a boy. Young, probably about her age, curly black hair, his head was bowed she couldn’t quite catch his features.  
“STOP!” she screamed, “STOP, PLEASE!” He began to lift his head, in what she could’ve sworn was annoyance, and before she could make out his face she collided with him, their bodies rolling off of the tracks and into dirt. It was all pain, and limbs and dirt as they rolled a safe distance away, the train passing moments after. 

Molly Hooper was never late. 

She was, however, directly on top of this boy now (never mind the pain of rolling on the dirt and gravel). This boy who she could not see to save the life of her, her glasses flung somewhere and the fall knocking some of her vision. He was a mash of colours, well lack thereof. His complexion was pale and she could just make out light blue eyes. She slowly began to lift off of his chest, ignoring his racing heart beat as well as her own.

“Are you crazy?!” she struggled to find her footing as he annoyingly managed to stand up with about as much grace as a mature angel. It was all very irritating, especially in Molly’s current visual state and she didn't doubt that she probably looked like a newborn giraffe taking its first steps.

“I’m assured the correct term would be suicidal.” he replied, grabbing both of her hands and lifting her up. She blinked. He was pretty blatant. And frighteningly calm at the whole situation.

“But... But a train…” she found herself whispering, the thought of the pain and impact crossed her mind and she winced.

“Would get the job done.” he finished. “Well would’ve gotten the job done if you hadn’t tried to be so heroic like those fantasy heroes you obviously read about.” he let go of her hands at that moment, realising he’d been holding them.

“Ex-Excuse me.” She tried to frown the blur of pale skin and black hair she could see ahead of her. “I am very sorry that I ruined your- your attempt of escape. Albeit I know that it is not my place to try and take any rights you have to your life but it was instinctive! It’s human nature to want to save people, it’s human nature to feel and I’m sorry for giving into those god forsaken urges.” She began to dust herself off as he eyed her curiously.

“Sentiment.” he said decidedly, as if he’d confirmed something to himself.

“No,” Molly interjected firmly and if her sight was at her disposal she would’ve seen his expression shift from shock to amusement. “We’ve never met before,” she continued, “This a prime example of instinct. I saw you were about to do something and I knew in my gut that I had to save you regardless of your situation. And no, it wasn’t all those fantasy books I read.” 

“You didn’t ask me how I knew about it.” he said after a moment. She was rubbing her shoulders and working the ache out of her muscles as she heard him say this. “What? The books?” she rolled her eyes, “I’m a teenage girl, of course I’m bound to read every now and again you just got lucky with the genre.” He scoffed, “I don’t get lucky.”

“Yes, I’m sure you don’t.” she answered confidently, she was going to find a park bench and wait until her vision got clear enough for her to walk to school. Tardiness was the least of her worries as of late. 

“It is 8:06 and you are six minutes late for school. Reading all night. You read two books yesterday, cover to cover Genre? Fantasy, obviously. Crime would’ve made you sleep earlier, if it were romance you would’ve dragged out the plot as far as you could. With fantasy the fast paced plot would’ve kept you up till the morning. Eager. Up till about five in the morning I’d say, judging on the severity of your attire. Uniform obviously indicates school and you’re organised so you would’ve timed that you got there a minute ago. 8:05, students standing around thoughtless, ready, boring. Oh, and you’re partially blind, judging from your squinting and poor aim. Really, Molly. You were a few inches off when you toppled me over, had you mistepped your efforts would’ve been pointless and you and I would’ve been spread out on the tracks together.”

“Well,” she managed to say, “Well, yes. Everything, yes. My… god, that was…”

“Weird, creepy, fake?” he finished, his voice audibly deflating if that was even possible.

“No, no, no. Brilliant, detailed, bloody accurate. Except I’m not partially blind. My glasses fell off along the tumble. And my aim is perfectly accurate thank you very much, you are alive which was the goal.” she wished she could see this boys face so she could slap it three times. 

“Damn!” he muttered under his breath, “Always something.” As the seconds flew by Molly could slowly see his form come to life, he was quite slender in build and still a bit blurry but she at least had a silhouette to place to the voice.

“How did you know my name?” she didn’t remember introducing herself.

“Your blazer is inside out.” He flicked the tag by her neck, with Molly Hooper written in cursive. She deadpanned. She really was a visual representation of desperate rushing. Molly began to peal herself out of her blazer and put it back on the right way. Struggling with the sleeves she swore she could audibly hear his eyes roll as he helped her into her school jacket.  
“I really am very sorry, I just couldn’t bare to just stand there and watch something so terrible happen.” she spoke softly, he was close and was sweeping off bits of debris from her shoulders.  
“Yes, well.” he cleared his throat stepping back, clearly finding the closeness a bit too much. “I believe a thank you is in order, I did find myself regretting the decision moments after the bells began to ring I just couldn’t find the will to move which was deeply infuriating.”

Molly scrunched her nose and guessed that was about the closest she’d get to gratitude.  
“You’re welcome…” she peered up at him, he was quite a bit taller than her.  
“Toby,” he said “Toby Wilson, the first life you can say you’ve saved.” he paused a bit longer than necessary for his name but she just assumed it was the shock of the whole ordeal catching up to him.  
“Well, Toby. I hope you use those beautiful gifts you were born with to assist others as well, it really is important that you utilise your talent. It would be such an awful waste if you were to throw them away temporarily or… permanently.” she swallowed a breath she didn’t know she had.  
“Right,” he stuttered, seeming quite overwhelmed at the honesty of her words. After all, they’d only met ten or so minutes ago. She had no need to treat him so kindly and yet there she stood, a beacon of positivity despite being disheveled and having little to no sight.  
“I believe it’d only be right for me to assist you in safe passage to your school. At least so I can assure you’re in a safe environment when we officially part ways.” He held an elbow to her and knotted her arm in his before she could process.

“Toby, I… no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” she spluttered, her cheeks getting red at their sudden closeness. “We’ll walk all the main roads if you’re frightened that I may be some kind of psychopath.” he said simply.  
“Oh, no. I just, you don’t owe you anything. I’ll just-.” she felt his finger brush against her lips.  
“On the contrary, I owe you my life. We really must be going. You’ll be forty minutes late if we don’t pick up the pace.” 

Molly shrugged, “Make that an hour. The office ladies hate me, they’ll make sure my late note is filled out nice and slow.” He headed in the direction of her bag laying abandoned on the pavement and she didn’t even question how it was he knew about its whereabouts. Flinging it effortlessly over his shoulder they made their way towards St Marys’ College. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with that. I can be very persuasive when it comes to receptionists and paperwork.” she couldn’t see him smiling, but she could practically hear it in the comfort of conversation they’d found. Silently she thanked whatever god it was that threw her glasses off nowhere to be found and tried to avoid the thought that after she was settled at her desk they would probably never see eachother again. She smiled through the sadness, after today she’d never forget this boy. She decided to soak up all the time she had left.

“So, Toby.” she began, “Let’s see you figure out everything that's in my bag right now. No peeking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this story is gonna be short and sweet and wrapped up in two chapters. Ugh, my two pretties interacting in the past... UNKNOWINGLY ?!? My heart swells.


	3. Turkey Sandwhiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock admits at being foolish both in theory and in practice. While Molly comes to grips with what really happened all those years ago.

“And that’s how I remember it.” Sherlock finished, his eyes slowly raising to meet Mollys. 

“Oh, of course.” she whispered. “Of course it was you, obviously!” Her hands covered her face and she was see sawing on being embarrassed and furious. 

“Molly I-.”

“Clearly! Well, not so clearly, those… goddamn glasses! Contacts would’ve been a godsend at the time. Right in my face, of course it was you! Who else would’ve deduced like that?”

“Molly, really-.” 

“But it was such a long, long time ago! I never even thought twice about the behaviour… and… and you! You never even told me it was you. This whole time! So why should I have to question the identity of him? I mean- of YOU! God, damn it all.” Sherlock decided to let her pour out her feelings a bit longer until she was done. “I am so stupid. Toby Wilson? Really, that is one of the most fake sounding names ever.” it was all coming together now, the pale complexion, blue eyes, curly black hair. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that was you… but then again how could it not have been. Obviously it was.” her shoulders were beginning to hunch and her stool almost tipped over as she sagged down into her stool.

“Molly,” Sherlock found a pause in her speech and took an opportunity, “I understand you must be deeply enraged and I just wanted to explain.” he watched her as she watched him, both of them trying to read each other. She seemed suspiciously calm.

“I get why you didn’t tell me your name when me met, I mean I was just a messy and rushed teenage girl who wanted to help someone. But Sherlock, after? Why didn’t you tell me now? I just, I don’t understand. That moment was a big part of my life, really. He was. You were.”   
She was tearing up unwillingly, knowing well that crying would just make Sherlock uncomfortable and the situation just that much more awkward.   
Sherlock pulled a hand beneath the stool and dragged it along the tiles as he positioned himself closer to her without crossing any personal space she didn’t want crossed.  
“The delay of this information and my apology is unforgivable.I just… I never found the right opportunity to tell you the truth. In fact, I didn’t think you’d even remembered at all, seeing as you didn’t recognise me when we met again here in St Barts for the first time.”

“Sherlock, I lost my glasses! I couldn’t even make out your cheekbones in my visual state!” Molly swatted his arm, not particularly hard he noted. She was on the cusp of forgiveness, he just had to say the right thing now. Tell her the truth.  
“Truly, it wasn’t until I found out about Toby’s name, which I believe suits him much better than I ever aspired to achieve, that I realised you remembered everything. Even having a significant feeling towards the whole ordeal. I guess for some reason I kept on putting it off because I was afraid you’d be upset… A-And, yes. I understand the longer I put it off the more upset you’d be. I was foolish both in theory and in practice.” He was staring at his hands which were doing quite outlandish and dramatic hand gestures as he spoke, something Molly understood as his way of emphasizing what he was feeling. Molly sighed, it would’ve been hilarious for him to find out she’d named her cat after him. Not even that! A boy she met when she was a teenager. “It’s alright, Sherlock. I understand, you meant well. Really, lets just be completely honest from now on, yeah?” She lent her cheek against her palm and smiled softly and sincerely accepted his apology, not that he had to put any effort into reading his pathologist. Molly was an open book, ever since he’d met her that day on the tracks, a trait he found quite comforting and reassuring. 

“Besides,” she said “You probably thought it was pathetic that I’d named my own pet after you.” She watched as his eyes widened in shock and his head shook so quickly she thought she’d broken him.  
“Molly, you are an amalgam of qualities and pathetic is most certainly not one of them. Naive and a lover of more than one heart perhaps, but never pathetic. Our interaction on the day you first saved me drove you to doing something you care about, something that helps save people. Sentiment isn’t my particular area, however, my first reaction to finding out about the label of your dear feline was that it was… well… quite sweet.” He was staring at his hands again, although they weren’t moving. 

She blinked. Was this a compliment? Was Sherlock Holmes complimenting her or was she still daydreaming and elbow deep in another poor fellow? Or… Oh, God. Was she in a coma? Was this all just a sweet hallucination...

“Molly.” Sherlock quickly acquired Mollys attention due to the fact that she completely froze for a moment and he was concerned she wasn’t breathing. 

“Yes, yes. Sorry. I- Sorry.” she sat up straighter and cleared her throat. This was real. This was real and Toby wasn’t. 

“Don’t apologise, it’s me that’s at fault here.” Sherlock began to stand. “I insist you allow me to repay you via a terribly made turkey sandwich and equally terrible juice at the canteen downstairs.”

Keep it cool, Molly. This is not a date. Literally just an offer at eating food together. Keep it cool.

“Sure, I’ll just finish here-.” she slowly began to get up, ignoring the slight urge to happy dance.   
“Later,” with a wave of a hand he dismissed any means of her denying the invitation. In one fell swoop and a wave of his coat he was a blur of blues and greys, reminiscent of the day they first met. She struggled to keep up with him as they made their way downstairs (she was silently thankful they weren’t going upstairs). As they turned a corner he slowed down enough so they were in considerable sync. 

“I’m happy we’re doing this.” Molly said as they waited in line at the canteen counter. He quickly scanned over her, finding no hidden agenda or hope of anything dodgy. Just a firm happiness on her part of spending time with him. Be that platonic or romantic. She was comfortable to just be near him and something about all of it made his whole being hum with an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling. 

“Me too,” he said with a curt nod, grabbing the tray of their food. “Theres also just one more thing I have to tell you. Seeing as we’re being completely honest and all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really want these chapters to start with 'T' all the way. Why? I don't know, I'm stupid. So I just put turkey sandwich there in the name of the ship. Oh well.


	4. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes the best declarations are sweet and simple.

A comfortable silence passed as both Sherlock and Molly tried (and failed) to eat their turkey sandwiches. Molly was just about to take a bite when Sherlock quickly interjected.  
“Alright, I might as well just begin.” he fiddled a bit with his scarf, obviously a bit nervous about what he was about to say. “That day, when we met, I really was in quite a dark place. And I may not have come off that way in the manner that I spoke to you in and the whole nonchalance of my whole attitude… but I really.” Sherlock squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable at the fact that he was finding it hard to articulate his, godforsaken, feelings.   
“I just-” he continued, “I was really lost at the time. And I may have appeared calm and collected after you managed to push me to safety, but inside I was reeling. As soon as we hit ground, me alive and you partially blind. I realised the reality of it all. I woke up. I was seconds away from clawing myself away from existence and you pulled me back.”

Molly began to shake her head softly and smiled modestly.

“Really, Molly. The decision to end my life had been a very definite path up until you altered it. And I sincerely wanted to thank you for your ability to save me, you have a serious knack for it at this point.” He smiled softly at her and his eyes widened a bit as she grabbed his hand but he squeezed it back, finding the contact pretty bearable if not comfortable. Molly thought back to that day and realised the severity of the situation, the fact that Sherlock may have died before he even got to spread his gift, his intellect, his passion in the world. She used to be so caught up in the fact that she saved him and that he was alive, that she seldom thought of what might have drawn him to the tracks. It broke her heart to think Sherlock was so conflicted and in need of escape that he’d come to such a final resort.  
“You’re very welcome, Sherlock. And there's no need to pay me back, there are hundreds if not thousands of lives I’m sure you’ve saved.” she let go of his hand, not wanting to be too clingy or make him uncomfortable, but she could swear she could see him pout at the loss of contact.  
“But none of them amount to the worth of you, Molly.” he whispered so lightly she could’ve missed it. And before she could even question if he’d indeed said that, his hands were patting his coat pocket like he was looking for something.  
“There’s one last thing. I kind of, well, I kept. Well n-not kept exactly.” Molly found herself grinning as Sherlock fumbled over his words. It was very unlike him and very cute in her opinion. 

After a few moments of digging his hands in his right pocket of his coat he finally fished the object out and placed it on the table.

“My glasses.” she gasped, picking them up and putting them on by default despite not wearing them for such a long time. “But… But, how-” she began.

“After that day, I went back to the tracks and I found them. I thought maybe I’d be able to see you again, return them to you and see you again. But I was nervous and I just couldn’t find the ability to… to approach you. So I just kept them and I… well yes. I just kept them. Your expression, why do you look so devastated?” He said self consciously, as he picked up the sandwich and began to eat it, grimacing occasionally.

“It’s just… very… memorial.” she said simply. “I wasn’t expecting you to do something that is so… sentimental. For me.” 

"I'd say it was more so a practical means of seeing you again as opposed to being sentimental."

“You… you wanted to see me again?” Molly was eyeing them now, the glasses. They were perfect, the lenses were brand new and he could even see they’d been painted light blue, how he’d known her favourite colour back then she didn’t even bother to ask. He'd had them fixed for her.

“Yes, I had grown quite protective over you after you’d saved me. Never in an unhealthy way of course, just checked on you a year or two later to make sure you were alright and then I went about my business. I did grow to have quite a likeness towards you.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal and gulped down the orange juice so he didn’t have to say anymore. His cheeks were beginning to redden, even the top of his nose, and Molly found herself sitting motionless for a few seconds. Who was she to doubt he’d been observing her from the periphery a bit after they’d met? If it were any other guy she’d think it was weird, but it was Sherlock. He had a means of ridding things out of his system. Some, he became addicted to. And some, he had to steadily work out of. In this case, Molly believed she fit. She found it bizarrely endearing, like a lot of the things Sherlock did, that he wanted to make sure she was safe for before he moved on. 

“Protective? Sentimental?... Likeness?” Molly braced her hands on the table, “Sherlock, did you… like me? Like… like like me?” Her voice was high, high enough to indicate she had abandoned the idea of coming off casual.

“From a realistic point of view and in regards to my understanding of the events of that time I believe yes, that is true.” Sherlock said slowly, as if to evaluate every word he said. And there it was. Plain and simple. Molly stared off into space for what seemed like the fifteenth time like she was on some kind of tv show.

She took a deep breath out. Reminded herself to breathe and looked back into his eyes which were trying frantically to read every thought she was having. Sherlock liking her as a teenager made her want to jump into a lake, pool and the ocean. It was a peculiar sensation. Even though his idea of having a bit of a crush would probably be content fondness rather than constant infatuation, Molly accepted it. She bit her lip, feeling like they were teenagers again. She used up every ounce of courage she had and asked him.   
“Do you like me… now?” she was scratching at the table top and it took everything in her power not to squirm in her seat. It wasn’t a date, it wasn’t a relationship, Molly just wanted a little bit of knowledge a little bit of clarity. 

“Yes.” he said quickly, avoiding eye contact, before flickering her eyes to look at her shyly. God, they really were acting like teenagers. "Yes, now I know I've treated you unforgivably in the past, and I know that I am an absolute tosser to put it lightly. But I, have grown to like the idea of possibly furthering our relationship... as more than that of friends. Although I completely understand if you decline, I have no inkling about what a relationship consists of and this is all very sudden."

And there it was again. She always thought that the reciprocation of Sherlock’s affection would be large scale, grand and dramatic. He would barge in with this huge declaration and they would cry and be happy and eat pizza together. Like during a case she would get kidnapped, or she’d move in with him in Baker Street for various reasons or they'd kiss in the rain outside a coffee shop. She didn’t think it would happen like this. In the cafeteria, with a god awful turkey sandwich in her hand and Joan from accounting eavesdropping on their conversation two tables back.

“I like you to.” she said, fiddling with the crust of her sandwich. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, yes, alright. That settles it then. It’s official. Second date, tomorrow, same time, different food. Definitely.” He was up and adjusting his scarf. In a rush and in a fit of emotion he was finding hard to process.

“This was a date?-”

“I better get going, I’ve got some cheering to do and some rearranging in my mind palace to take care of, good day. Tomorrow, then.” He was sincerely grinning ear to ear as he swept through the cafeteria doors in his usual hyper-speed Sherlock way. As soon as Sherlock was gone Molly’s head dropped on the cafeteria table, forehead first into a picked apart turkey sandwich as she squealed at the same high pitch for about ten minutes. 

Molly Hooper was never late and Sherlock Holmes always found a way to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, a cute lil ending to a cute lil story. I dunno, I was gonna make this SUPER grand and huge but then I was like, man I should just simplify this and make them cute and awkward while I can. (Coz' mama's been cookin up some angst and a buttload of heartbreak so I might aswell ram this random burst of fluff on in while I still have the ability).

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always been interested in the origins of Toby’s name, and what better than to support my cute little Teen!Lock ship as it sets sail. YAS to the past interlocking with the now, am I right? The veil of mystery surrounding their first meeting will soon be revealed.


End file.
